by Tad Crawford
I stopped for a moment and stared at the ship. What if I were both man and eunuch? I would have a stiff, smooth sheath. Wanting to enter myself, I would be willing to be entered—my penis between my lips, my anus ready for my own thrust. To experience both the pleasure of receiving and the pleasure of releasing. And what of the white spurt of sperm? Sent into the beginning or end of the digestive tract, swimming toward an ovum that would be … where? Would the sperm end in the gastric caldron of the stomach? The endless folds of the small intestine? Or cleaned of the literal, would a sort of ectoplasmic sperm swim to the solar plexus, the heart, the missing sack of my genitals, to work the mystery of impregnation and fill me with the growing life the doctor had offered me? Well, he had gone too far. I didn’t want to be a eunuch or an angel. I wanted the familiar, the safely repetitive.
Yet these odd thoughts continued to flood through me. Might cleaning leave a terrible ache like that of an amputee whose lost leg still sends signals from uprooted nerves that say, “I am here. I have never left. Place your weight on me.” But in this case it wouldn’t be a lost leg or a forearm but the spongy globes of my testicles that would be gone. Would the nerves sing the same way, carrying messages of pain or desire to the spine and the brain? Would my balls have a phantom life?
Then I recollected a man, a person I should say, who had the fully developed sexual organs of both a man and a woman. What sensations would such a man-woman be capable of achieving? I never knew this person, but I read his/her first-person story. He/she had no preference with respect to taking the role of man or woman, although being a woman brought presents that he/she liked. Of course there’s more hermaphroditism than I ever realized growing up in a time when the norm allowed only two sexes, not modulations on a sexual spectrum. But could someone have the fully developed organs of both sexes and enjoy sex regardless of the sex of his/her partner? If this could really happen, what if it happened to me? What would it feel like to be not one sex but two, no longer a provincial from the town of man or woman but a cosmopolitan embodying both lover and beloved?
What of the ancient philosophers who speculated that man and woman had once been joined as a whole? The separation of the sexes left each of us searching for a beloved to make us complete. Would possessing both sexes oneself save a person from this search? Or did the philosophers mean that the soul is incomplete? If that’s true, where would such a person search for what is missing? Or, thinking of it another way, if the quest is for a soul mate, then a eunuch would be as whole as anyone else. His ache for a partner would be the same as the soul ache of anyone else. I drifted a bit, like a reader nodding with sleep while the hand continues to turn pages. Gandhi came to mind. Not as the great liberator of India, but for an almost unknown episode that had stayed with me despite my having read of it quite a while ago. From the time of her infancy, Gandhi’s granddaughter had slept with him in his bed. When she reached the age of eleven, Gandhi’s advisors began to warn him against letting the girl continue to sleep with him. They feared that his political enemies would use this to injure his reputation and his effectiveness as a leader. He replied that his sexual life had long been over. In fact, he said, the flesh of his sexual organ had changed in color to gray and its composition had become viscous, nearly solid. Instead of going into the world, the energy of his organ now rose within his spine to roost in his skull. The author then went on to speak of the transforming power of this energy that twists about the spine in upward-rising spirals. Gandhi’s advisors, however, persisted. Finally, despite wanting to continue this closeness with his grandchild, Gandhi agreed to sleep alone.
One disturbing aspect of the story of Cheng Ho returned to me a number of times after I first found him on the computer. In the Ming court, there were always competing factions, one favoring exploration and the other preferring isolationism. After Cheng Ho’s death, an able man came forward and proposed to continue the admiral’s explorations. The new emperor, influenced by his Confucian advisors, who valued tradition, decided against further expeditions. In fact, within a hundred years, overseas trade was forbidden and sailing from China in a multimasted ship was punishable by death. How terrible to want to explore but be limited by others’ fear. Who would Cheng Ho have become if he had never held the rank of admiral of the western seas and commanded his giant junks on their far-flung voyages? Would he have remained forever on the soil of China, on the shore at Nankin, looking to the sea and wondering what might have been?
Staring down at my wrinkled flesh, I didn’t have to wonder what might have been. It was evident enough that the pill had failed. For a time, I might be more angel than man. I didn’t want to visit that crazy doctor again, so I decided to do nothing at all. Do no harm—if ever a phrase lacked ambition … Surely I could aim higher! Or maybe not. Maybe it would be best not to aim. Maybe that would be best.
14
I rang the bell, heard the gentle chime, walked through the misty hallway with its shimmering waterfalls, and found myself again in the presence of the elderly model maker.
“Welcome,” he said with a warmth that made me feel he had looked forward to my return.
“Hello.”
“So a week has gone by,” he observed, coming from behind the counter and offering me his hand.
“Yes.” I felt the thinness of his palm when clasped in mine.
“Did you enjoy the boat?”
“Yes, very much.” I couldn’t tell him about the flood of fantasizing the boat had started in me. “I’ve brought it to return to you.”
“You aren’t buying it?”
“I feel it belongs here.”
“Perhaps another boat would be better.”
“No no, I don’t think so. These models should be displayed for everyone to enjoy, just as you have them.”
Pecheur took the package and returned to his counter, where he began unwrapping the junk. Finished, he placed it on its pedestal. We stood back and looked at how the ship filled the empty space.
“Are you still looking for an assistant?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I do want the position.”
“It would mean living here. I may have forgotten to mention that.”
He had forgotten, but I didn’t care. I had no reason to share the apartment with my wife any longer, and I hadn’t found one of my own.
“That’s no problem.”
“Good.”
“When do you want me to start?” I asked.
“When could you start?”
I considered this. “I should give notice at my job. And at my apartment too. Maybe two or three weeks.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have everything ready.”
“So it’s settled?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s settled,” he answered with a smile.
Only later, while passing the expensive boutiques on Madison Avenue, did I realize that I had forgotten to ask about my salary.
15
“Invitation?”
I pulled out the squarish envelope that had been slipped under my door. My name had been inscribed in a flowery script suitable for weddings and debutante balls. I handed the gilt-edged vellum across the table.
“Did you RSVP?” the bear demanded.
I shook my head. I could hear music in the forest not too far away. The invitation was to the annual jamboree. It promised “a celebration of winter’s end and a joyous awakening to lusty spring.”
He pawed over the pages of a long list of names.
“Ah, here you are. Okay, go on through and follow the others.”
“What group is sponsoring this event?” I asked.
He furrowed his thick brows.
“Who invited you?” he growled.
I had no idea why I’d received an invitation. In fact, I barely knew what spur-of-the-moment caprice had made me rush to Central Park. It might have been the word “lusty.” I had been going here and there for treatments for my condition, but nothing had helped so far.
“It
was under my door … ” I began to explain as the line of waiting bears grew longer behind me.
“All right,” he interrupted with a wave of his paw, “go in.”
The entire park must have been taken over for the jamboree. I passed through the checkpoint and followed the crowd of bears as it flowed beneath the antique street lamps. Even on the wide paths, furry pelts and thick muscles pressed against me in the crush. An excited chatter moved with us as we struck deeper into the park.
Ahead, near the Great Lawn, I could see bears converging from several directions. Far too many to count. On a bandstand raised near the leaping light of a bonfire, a band of a dozen bears played drums, fiddles, and flutes in a jig that reverberated through the park. Around the fire a hundred or more bears danced with legs crossing forward and back and arms outstretched to clasp one anothers’ shoulders. When the music quickened, the bears separated to leap and kick before coming together again. Tables were crowded with serving dishes heaped full of berries, mushrooms, acorns, and grasses. Bears with overflowing plates lined up to fill their cups from spigots in giant kegs.
Not seeing anyone I knew, I followed an impulse and leapt in among the dancers. I squeezed between a couple of bears, tossed my arms over their shoulders, and let the frenzy of the dance move my limbs. The drums seemed to connect me to the depths of the earth while the flutes lifted me to the heavens. The fiddle inspired a wildness and speed that had me jostling in and out among my giant companions. My perspiration flowed like spray from a fountain, and my body loosened with the heated movement until I imagined I had been created only for this, this endless dance that would go on and on. As if in confirmation of that feeling, the band ran one tune into the next so the flow of music never stopped. I had no idea how long the sponsor’s permit allowed this party in the park, but I felt that only the rising sun could silence this music.
“Hey, remember us?”
I looked at the family with momentary incomprehension. The surge of the dancers carried me onward, and I made a full circle around the fire before reaching them again. I stepped away from the dance and tried to place this giant dark-coated bear, his large wife, and their two cubs.
“How have you been?” I asked, certain I had met them but not at all sure when or in what circumstances. We had undoubtedly been introduced, but I hadn’t the faintest recollection of their names, where they lived, their unique concerns, or anything about them.
“We’ve been fine,” said the father in his basso voice. “Frankly, it’s a pleasant surprise to see you here. I wasn’t expecting to.”
“No,” chimed in his wife.
“That’s for sure,” added one of the cubs in a less pleasant tone that made me wonder why they didn’t expect to see me there.
“I didn’t expect you either,” I answered, still panting from the dance and wanting to show pleasure at our reunion.
“Why did you come?” asked the father.
“I got an invitation.”
“Ah.”
“I came home today and found the invitation. It must have taken a long time to be delivered, because the jamboree was, of course, tonight. I’ll be moving soon, so it’s a miracle it reached me at all. Anyway, I rushed out the door and came to the park.”
“And you’ve been having a good time?” he asked dubiously.
“What could be better than dancing?”
He leaned toward his wife and whispered something into one of her upright, furry ears. She nodded in reply.
“Come on, Dad,” complained the cub who had spoken before. “This is boring.”
“Quiet down,” the father said gruffly.
“Are you all right?” the mother asked me in a kindly tone. She put her paw on my waist to steady me.
My head had begun to feel light and my body rubbery, as if my knees might give way.
“I don’t feel very well,” I admitted. I looked down at my arms, surprised to find them white, furless, and spindly. Had I been sick? Why didn’t I look like the throng of strong bears I could see in every direction?
“Some food might help.” The father came to my other side, and the two of them walked me toward the tables.
I can’t explain why I found the food unappetizing. The grass looked dry, the mushrooms uncooked and perhaps poisonous, and my teeth wouldn’t be able to crack the hard shells of the acorns. Why couldn’t I eat with the same gusto as everyone else? At last I put a few dark berries on my plate.
“Is that all?” asked the father with disapproval.
“He’s not feeling well,” said the mother. “Let’s sit down and let him rest.”
We settled at one of the picnic tables. What had happened to my fur? Where had my thick muscles vanished to? Why didn’t I have claws? As I fed myself the berries, one at a time, I realized that I lacked the handsome snouts of my companions. Despite my horror and disgust at seeing myself in this new way, I gradually began to feel more in control of my body. Had I never looked in a mirror? How could I not know that I looked so bizarre and otherworldly?
The family ate without any concern for my appearance. They chatted amiably about the enormous turnout, good friends they hoped to run into, the beauty of the spring night, and how life is given a pleasurable intensity by contrasts. This exuberant party made him think, the father explained, of the hibernation from which he had recently awakened.
“How peaceful the long night of winter can be,” he said. “In the darkness, with our daily concerns forgotten and our bodies sufficient unto themselves, the mind lets go and travels. Is it that way for you?”
I nodded to conceal my confusion. I had no recollection of hibernating. As far as I could recall, I had spent the last winter in my apartment with the rising steam banging in the radiators.
“You should take better care of yourself.” He adopted a gentler tone, perhaps moved by imagining my long sleep to have been like his.
“I’m hoping to get better,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” asked his wife.
I couldn’t bring myself to reply.
“Stop that, you two!” She spoke sharply to the cubs, who had been licking their white plates with their long tongues. “You have better manners than that.”
“From what?” asked the father.
I shrugged. My embarrassment must have been evident, because he rose and gestured for me to come with him.
“Mind your mother,” he ordered the cubs.
We wove our way through the throng and into the forest. I followed him on a small, twisting path until the ever-renewing music and the ceaseless roar of chatter seemed distant. He gestured for me to sit. I looked around and, seeing only tree trunks, settled on the ground, with my back supported by rough bark. He sat with his legs crossed, his head and shoulders still towering above me.
“What’s troubling you?”
I hung my head. I would never admit to him or anyone that for the first time I had seen myself as strange, freakish, an eternal outsider worthy only to be despised or pitied. I didn’t understand how he could accept me with such grace.
“You can tell me,” he spoke gently. “You’ll feel better if you get it out.”
“I’m not what I used to be,” I said vaguely.
“Yes?”
“I used to be better.” Here I waved in the direction of my genitals.
“You’re having some difficulties … ”
“I can’t get an erection.” I let myself speak boldly but sensed other, more elusive losses connected to this one.
“Not even by yourself?”
“Not by myself, not with anyone. There’s no point in my trying.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that why you’re here tonight?”
I nodded my head miserably. “Not the only reason, but certainly a reason. The celebration of spring, the new awakening. I hoped … ”
“What?”
“There might be an elixir.”
“Elixir?” He raised his t
hick brows and peered at me as if I had just come into focus.
“Yes.”
“Like a magic pill?”
“Exactly. That’s what I want.”
“There are commercial products, of course … ”
“I’ve tried them. They don’t do a thing.”
He put a paw to his chin. Tilting his head, he looked at me contemplatively.
“You’re sure it’s what you want?” he asked at last.
“Wouldn’t anyone want it?”
“Probably,” he agreed, “except for someone who didn’t think of it as a problem.”
“But it is a problem.”
“What’s sex anyway?” he asked.
There must have been a good retort, but I couldn’t think of it.
“Energy,” he answered when I failed to. “But energy can take many forms. Perhaps you need your energy for something other than sex.”
“But … ”
“Just consider it.”
I did a quick mental survey of my daily activities, wondering which could be claiming the energy that had once found expression in sex. But this survey felt like the kind of questionnaire no one bothers to fill in. By and large, I didn’t remember what I did during the day, or night for that matter. I remembered the envelope slipping under my door. I remembered rushing out to the jamboree. I certainly remembered that I couldn’t have erections.
“I have a question,” I said.
He raised his brows to show interest.
“Where do all these bears live? I’ve never seen one bear in Central Park, much less thousands.”
“In the caves,” he answered, nodding his head.
“What caves?”
“The park is full of caves.”
